


Troublemaker

by scattergun



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Loli, Underage - Freeform, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:10:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1926222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scattergun/pseuds/scattergun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all Doc Scratch's pupils, Vriska causes the most trouble. (AU where Human!Scratch has a mansion full of troll girls.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Troublemaker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caalsio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caalsio/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy! Crit welcome!

"Vriska."

She's standing in front of you on the polished wood of the floor of your study. You lounge in your armchair, nonchalant, yet serious- a tough look to pull off for some, perhaps, but you find you're a natural.

At the moment she's managing to look extra prickly: arms crossed, shoulders drawn up, hair spikily mussed. The laces on her one shoe- green, like the rest of her uniform- have mysteriously become untied in the short span of time since you told her to meet you here. You speculate on whether she undid it on the way because she knows that you value neatness.

Satisfied with the duration of silence, you sigh in a disappointed, fatherly manner. "Vriska, do you know why we're having this conversation?"

"Iunno, cuz you're an asshole?" Even drawn up to her full height she's shorter than you sitting down.

"Language, dear," you scold. "That makes five violations this week."

She doesn't respond, so you sigh again and tap two fingers against the armrest. "Kanaya's laptop."

You catch surprise on her face before she looks away, eyebrows drawn together."Kanaya let me use her laptop," she mumbles, looking surly. "I asked her."

"Kanaya earned her laptop privileges because she is polite and well-behaved," you remind her. "Being able to convince her doesn't make it yours to take." Pause. "She hasn't so much as seen her laptop since... Wednesday, was it?"

She's got nothing to say to that, so you just shake your head minutely. "A spanking seems appropriate," you say, and beckon towards your lap. "Fifteen should suffice."

Hesitation, her gaze flickering across the room in some last instinctive attempt to find an out. You wait. You taught her better than that.

And so she comes to you, steps slow across the floor. That defiant look is still there, but you sense notes of uncertainty behind it. You generally avoid corporeal punishment, preferring psychological tools to the use of force, and she isn't familiar with the situation. Effective, that.

She nears, and you guide her to bend over your knee. You fold her skirt upwards methodically, slowly enough that you have a moment to inwardly admire the view: boyshorts striped in white and green, snugly fit over a pert bum. You let the girls pick their own undergarmets as long as the colors fit the dress code. You find it adds a charming secret spark of individuality.

You push down her underwear, revealing smooth skin, grey, with cerulean undertones. Only then do you pull your gloves off- making her wait. The devil's in this sort of detail.

"Vriska. Are you ready?" you ask, gentlemanly.

"Get on with it," she replies, voice gruff with her tough front.

You bring your hand down. A slap, a hiss, she jerks.

Again. She's more prepared for the sensation this time, and so manages to remain silent. That'll change, of course.

Again. She's tense. You don't count out loud for her.

Once again. She makes a small noise this time.

You continue to lay blows upon her, steadily, unrelentingly. Around six she makes a noise like a sob. By ten it's constant.

At fifteen her backside is flushed cerulean. Soothingly, you lay your hand there.

She doesn't move to leave.

"We're done, Vriska," you encourage.

Her shoulders are shaking and she's still making those tiny sobbing noises. With a small sigh, you pull her panties back up and lift her to straddle your lap. Her hands are drawn up to her chest- she won't hug you- but she doesn't push you away or make a move to leave. You hold her and weave a hand through her hair.

She growls at you, or attempts to: it sounds more miserable than contemptuous. "Y-you wouldn't have... Wouldn't have done it if you d-didn't like them more than me any- anyways." Her voice cracks.

"Oh, Vriska. Your choices are your own, and they have consequences," you chastise gently. "And if I truly didn't like you, I would've sent you away."

She sniffles into your vest, still obviously upset.

You continue, lowering your voice towards a soothing murmur. "If I truly didn't like you I wouldn't be holding you like this, no?"

You smooth your thumb over the nape of her neck and set the other hand to rest on her upper thigh, just under her skirt. This is the tricky part, but you have faith. You move your hand upwards, caressing the inside of her thigh.

Startle-quick, she sits up straight. "Uh-"

"Shh... Shh. Easy now." You rub her back and when she doesn't move to do more than look at you, wide-eyed, you pull her back in close. "Good girl."

You find the opening of her nook and press your thumb up against it through the fabric of her panties. Slowly, you move your thumb up and down it: gentle, steady pressure.

"How does that feel?" you ask her softly.

"Ah- um..." Her voice is a little far-off, distracted by the novel sensation. "Nice, I-" An exhalation of breath. "-I guess?" She shifts her hips forward a little, unsure, uncomfortable. "Why-"

"I told you- I do like you." You touch her this way a little while longer, waiting for her to stop fidgeting uneasily before moving on.

"Here- take that off for me, would you?" You lift her off her lap so she can stand on the floor. She hesitates, but it wasn't really a question, and she steps out of her undergarments for you, face adorably flushed.

You settle her back onto your lap, this time with her back against your chest. You bring your hand down to her nook, and her hands clench at your pants. Nerves, no doubt. Unconfined, her bulge brushes against your hand, half-emerged, and you let it try to coil around a finger.

Vriska squirms a little and finally drives her head backwards into your chest with an impatient noise.

"Use your words, Vriska," you admonish.

"G-get on with it, already...!" That familiar rough tone of false bravado.

Obligingly, you turn her around and pull your cock out of your pants.

"It's your choice," you say, matter-of-factly, as she stares- but what would she do now, besides what you wish her to?

She looks at you with narrowed eyes. "What, you think I'm... scared, or something?"

"It's big," you comment mildly. "It'd be understandable."

She bares her little fangs at you at grabs at your shoulders. "I'm not scared of anything." So predictable. You'd smile, if she wouldn't interpret it as mockery; instead you keep your expression serious.

"Go ahead, then," you say, wearing an encouragingly placid look.

She hesitates, then lowers herself down a bit, one small hand reaching down to wrap around your cock, keeping it steady under her.

Encountering a bit of resistance she glances at you, and you give her a small smile. With a huff she pushes herself down further, heedless of discomfort, and she is soft and warm and tight around you.

Both her hands grip your shoulders now, and she's looking down, not meeting your gaze. Utterly patient despite the feeling of her, you pet her sides, her back, her head, giving her time to adjust.

You hear her breathing become less shaky, so you speak. "Try moving up and down for me, would you?"

(What could she do now, besides what you wish her to?)

She complies, and as hard as you know she's trying, she can't quite stay quiet. She whimpers a little, and you help her pick up the pace. You shush her pained gasps, holding her close and petting her becalmingly until her vocalizations are interspersed with high, stuttering moans.

"I dont- ahh- need you to like me," she manages between gasps, her petite bulge lashing, looking for purchase. "I... mnmm... don't."

"Of course not," you placate. "Of course not, Vriska, my girl."

There is a great and vast warm stillness inside of you, even as your blood grows hot. Passion. Compassion. You kiss the top of her head as if blessing her. You're close and so is she.

You find her bulge and hold it with one hand, letting it squirm and coil in your hand. She gasps and headbutts you with her nubby child horns, overwhelmed.

"Dr.- Dr. Scratch-"

"Good girl- let it go-" And she does, shuddering.

She stops moving, but you continue to bounce her in your lap, coming deep into her nook shortly thereafter.

She sits still, exhausted. You pull out of her and, being the excellent host you are, pull a handkerchief from your pocket and clean the both of you up as best possible while she gathers her wits. Luckily there's not much mess: your come is inside of her, while she, being below pailing age, has only emitted a couple of drops of clear fluid instead of a bucketful of blue.

She slides off your lap and takes a few wobbly, limping steps before straightening, picking her underwear off the floor, and gingerly putting them back on underneath her skirt.

She leaves significantly more bedraggled-looking than when she came in to your study: skirt ruffled, face flushed, hair disshelved. This time, somehow, you don't mind.


End file.
